


A Ghostbuster Loki Christmas Carol

by Weaselwoman



Category: A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens, Christmas - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, xmas - Fandom
Genre: Captain America: The First Avenger, Crack, Gen, ghostbusters - Freeform, not that one, time heist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:20:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28013061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weaselwoman/pseuds/Weaselwoman
Summary: A sequel of sorts to "Ghostbuster Loki."
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. In which our characters are introduced.

Jacob Marley’s ghost last night may have been nothing more than an undigested piece of suet, but it left Ebenezer Scrooge quite unsettled with its promise of three more ghosts to visit this evening. Thinning his morning gruel to near water barely helped his digestion this morning. Perhaps the sight of Cratchit, working away to make Scrooge money, would raise his spirits? After a cup of tea indistinguishable from the gruel, Scrooge walked downstairs to the office.

Cratchit wasn’t working, damn him; instead, he was chatting with a tall thin visitor in a good dark coat. Scrooge barely heard the visitor's voice (with its rather posh accent) as the man wished his clerk a good day, and departed.

“Sir? You left this?” Cratchit called out to the stranger as he went through the door.

_Crack_ went Scrooge’s cane on Cratchit’s desk. “What was that man doing, wasting our time?”

“Well, sir,” said Bob Cratchit; “He thought we was a printers’. He wanted this handbill made up, many copies.”

“What is it?” Scrooge grabbed at the thick piece of paper, read the spidery handwriting:

_Loki Ulfsson_

_Ghost Removal_

_Reasonable Rates Negotiated_

_Pleasant and Reliable_

_Inquire at ….._

“Sir?” Cratchit was speaking again. “I was thinking I might leave early this evening? Tomorrow’s Christmas.”

“You’ll want that day off as well, I suppose.”

“I believe the law requires it.”

“Then tomorrow is plenty of time off for you. Back to work!” And he crumpled the paper.

Still, throughout the miserable, overcast day, Scrooge was troubled. The cheap coal in his grate gave off more brown fog than heat; his offal sandwich was, well, awful; and he continually thought he heard the sound of rattling chains. Marley’s chains. Was the noise coming from the waste basket? Scrooge reached in, and removed the crumpled paper—perhaps it would better ignite the coal—then looked at it again. Just before dark he turned to his sighing clerk.

“Cratchit! You may leave now if you find this handbill fellow, and ask him to come directly to my office.”

“Sir?”

“This…” looking down, “this Ulfsson. Send him here, then go home.”


	2. Ghost the First: Comparative religion

Scrooge looked again at the crumpled handbill. “You said reasonable rates. How much to remove a ghost?”

Ulfsson was a tall man, well dressed (as his coat had suggested), with a soft-spoken, educated voice. “One pound six.”

“Preposterous! I assume you have group rates?”

“How many ghosts are we talking about?”

“Three.”

“Do they arrive together? If I can arrange a single ambush, then I can give you a discount.”

“Yes, of course. And I am a senior, so you should give me a discount for that, as well.”

“You may not have noticed,” said Ulfsson, “but I am far older than you.”

“Do you have then a children’s rate?” Scrooge asked in a small voice.

“Three pounds six for the lot. If they arrive together.”

“Do you have an Auto Club discount?”

Ulfsson pinched himself between the eyes with one long-fingered hand. “Enough of this. Three pounds six, in advance.”

“The money is in my bank account,” said Scrooge. “And the bank doesn’t open until Boxing Day. So you will have to wait until then.”

They stared at each other.

Finally: “All right,” said Ulfsson. “Pay later. Where are these ghosts?”

“The first—that is, they—arrive at midnight.”

Scrooge retired with a sputtering candle to climb into his bedclothes and then into bed. Loki set up a trap of mirrors and spiderwebs in a corner of Scrooge’s bedroom, and sat in a rickety chair beside it to wait. 

In the distance, church bells rang twelve. A sealed window banged open.

“I am the Spirit of Christmas Past,” proclaimed the sheet-clothed figure wearing a candle wreath headdress, as it approached the bed.

Loki cleared his throat. “Christmas… Spirit, explain Christmas.”

“Why, it is the celebration of our Lord Christ’s birth.”

“Oh, the White Christ; he who replaced my brother Thor in the hearts of the Norse. And how is this birthday celebrated?”

“With Glory to God in the highest,”

Loki interrupted. “Yes, well, my father Odin calls himself Highest. He and I are on the outs, presently. Continue.”

“And peace and goodwill to men.”

“Just men?”

“ _Men_ as a class includes women,” said the ghost, beginning to be annoyed.

“And those in between?” To the ghost’s puzzled look, Loki said, “Never mind. Toward anyone else?”

“Well, good animals, I suppose. Faithful dogs, willing horses, good-natured farm animals…”

“What about gods?”

“Gods?”

“Yes, other gods. Such as I am.”

The spirit gave him a strict look, like an opinionated schoolteacher. “There is only one God.”

“You said Highest? And Christ? That’s two, and counting.”

“You are an insolent heathen!”

“Perhaps,” said Loki, rising, and fired his weapon. _Poof!_


	3. Ghost the Second: Terms and Conditions

Scrooge lifted his head from under the bedcover, where he’d been hiding. “Is it gone?”

“I was promised three,” said Loki. “Where are the rest?”

“It is not midnight yet,” Scrooge noted. The church bells began to ring, and he ducked his head under the covers again. Again the window banged open.

The Spirit of Christmas Present was a much sturdier ghost than the first. Loki didn’t bother sitting back down. “Where is the third ghost?” he asked.

Christmas Present laughed. “What, we should arrive all together and sing in harmony? We work in shifts.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, ghosts have a strong Union. And you? Free-lancing?”

“At present.”

“Well, if you’re working for _him_ ”—the ghost pointed to the quivering pile of blankets in the bed—“I’d take the money in advance. He regularly stiffs contractors.”

“Thank you for that advice. What brings you here?” Loki sat down, and invited the spirit to sit in Scrooge’s own chair.

“He’s got to mend his ways, he does. There’s an over-worked clerk, Cratchit, with a hungry family and a boy who’s not long for this world unless Scrooge intervenes. We can’t have innocents dying,”

“That’s commendable,” Loki said,

“not on Christmas, at any rate.”

“So. Just not on Christmas,” Loki said flatly, and pulled out his weapon. _Poof!_


	4. Ghost the Third: Ye Olde Time Heist

Loki turned to look at Scrooge, who had again poked out his head from the blankets.

Loki jumped from his chair to grab Scrooge by the jaw. “You said all your money was in the bank. Which bank?” Looked into his eyes as Scrooge coughed. Loki’s eyes glowed green. “So. No bank at all. I’ll have my five pounds now.”

“You said three pounds six!”

“Did the ghosts arrive together?”

“Is it my fault the spirits are lazy?”

“ _Where is my money?!?_ ”

“There’s a safe in my office. Downstairs.”

“Fetch it!”

Scrooge put on his slippers and took the candle with him, still in his nightclothes with no robe to cover him. Loki chased him downstairs and locked him into the office, then went back to the bedroom. Better to confront this last ghost alone. He sat in Scrooge’s chair, and glowered.

Bells rang. A window flew open. “I am the Spirit of Christm…”

“Yes, yes. A child is in danger?”

“Tiny Tim. Bob Cratchit’s boy. Asthmatic, and on crutches.”

“Not long to live?”

“No.”

“Hmmm. Do you know, they tell a story about me, in the Faroes. About a boy who was to be devoured by a giant, whom neither Thor nor Odin could save. But clever Loki saved him. Let us try again. Where are your partners?”

“You _poofed_ them.”

“Can you call them back?”

“Those events are in the past. I can only see the future.”

“Look into the future, then. There is a gem, a hidden green Infinity Stone, called the Time Stone. Find it.”

The ghost peered into the blank distance. “It’s in the Eye of Agamotto.”

“Where is this Eye? When?”

“There is a meeting of sorcerers next week, in the London Sanctum Santorum. The Ancient One is bringing the Eye there.”

“Take us there.”

“You _poofed_ my comrades!”

“And now we’re saving a child. Take me there.”

Scrooge’s bedroom dissolved around them. The parlor of a London club appeared in its place, with wizards arranged like furniture against the walls, and themselves in an enchanted circle in the center. A short bald Celtic-looking woman, the Ancient One, walked toward them.

“I expected him,” she told the Spirit, tilting her head at Loki, “but I didn’t expect you. What is it?”

“An errand of mercy,” said Loki. The Spirit nodded agreement.

The Ancient One sighed. “Try not to mess up the timeline too much.” She held out her necklace with the pendant glittering Eye, and Loki took it.

“Where now?” said the Spirit.

“New York,” said Loki. “1941.”

They waited outside Howard Stark’s warehouse, when a man with a gun ran out, pursued by a fresh-faced strapping hero. Loki reached out an arm and snatched a dripping syringe from the gunman. “Let’s go.”

“But…” the Spirit wanted to see how the chase would end.

“Now.”

“Where?”

“Back to Scrooge’s time. To Bob Cratchit’s house.”

A midnight knock on the door of a basement flat. Bob Cratchit, squirrelly with sleep, answered it. “What is it? The children are sleeping.” There was a faint coughing behind him. “Most of the children.” He looked at the two of them in the light of the streetlamp. “Mr. Ulfsson? And who…?”

“I brought a doctor,” said Loki. “For Tiny Tim.”

“How did you know…”

“Mr. Scrooge told us,” said the Spirit. “May we come in?”

The syringe looked nasty in the candle-light, but medicine often comes in unpleasant forms. “We must inject Tiny Tim with this,” said Loki.

“What is it?” asked Bob Cratchit.

“Super-soldi… ummm, vitamins. It’s special vitamins. It will make him better. You’ll be quite surprised at the effects.”

“Where now?” said the Spirit.

“Back to Scrooge’s. To a minute before midnight. The first time.”

They waited, invisible, behind the mirror-and-cobweb trap. Loki elbowed his sitting visible self. _Shhh!_

The first Spirit arrived. Scrooge ducked under the covers. Words were exchanged. Visible Loki raised his weapon, and invisible Loki put his hand over the mouth of the Spirit of Christmas Past, and yanked him into his pocket space.

The second Spirit came, and the procedure was repeated.

The four met in Scrooge’s bedroom while Scrooge was still locked in his office. The bells were ringing twelve.

“Now what?” said the first Spirit.

“What were you going to do?” asked Loki.

“Persuade Scrooge to change his ways. Show him what the world was like when he was young and open-hearted,” said the first Spirit.

“What it is like now,” said the second Spirit.

“What will come, if he does not change his ways,” said the third.

“All very good,” said Loki. “I will put Scrooge back in his bed, and you may proceed. But I require one thing more, from _you_ ”—pointing to the Spirit of Christmas Present.

“From me?”

“Yes,” said Loki, with a smile. “Sometime next week, or next month, when Scrooge lapses back into his old ways, go to Bob Cratchit, and tell him about labor unions.”

While he was downstairs fetching Scrooge, Loki _poofed_ the crumpled handbill advertising his services.

Afterwards, he walked outside with the departing Spirit of Christmas To Come.

“Will you be returning the Eye, then?” said the Spirit.

“Eventually,” said Loki. “There’s no rush, after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon suggests but cannot prove that Tiny Tim Cratchit grew up to be Dum-Dum Dugan.


End file.
